Iona, Scotland's Sacred Isle, Greets
Visitors From an Excursion Ship
In the darkness of the seventh century
this three-mile-long island of rock and
heather shone as a beacon of Christian
ity. Celtic missionaries from lona
spread the gospel across Scotland and
carried culture and learning as far as
Germany and Switzerland. Saint Co
lumba died on Iona; kings were borne
to burial in its hallowed ground. Viking
raids started an eventual eclipse.
These visitors land by tender from
their interisland steamer, King George V,
anchored off the shallows. Granite hills
of the Island of Mull mark the horizon.
freshly in makes one anchorage untenable,
there is always somewhere else to go for shel
ter-so long as you can see.
Mists and rain can be blinding and stay
that way for weeks, even when the calendar
has arrived at the period known officially as
summer. We were lucky. It rained, of course,
but it was often the soft and gentle rain, so
common in those Scottish lochs, that touches
the water with swift, soft circles and is so
light the brief perfection of these circles is
its only evidence, for it cannot be felt on face
or hair.
A night's rest at Lochranza, and so on
again we sped toward the north, sailing with
a favoring wind and the big botter gliding
silently and upright, quiet as a Boeing 707
in the stratosphere.
We had to go north before we could head
west for the Western Islands. But first we
went up Loch Fyne (famous for its herring
once) as far as Inveraray, and then back to
pretty Ardrishaig for passage of the Crinan
Canal. That nine-mile stretch of climbing and
descending waters, some 30 feet wide and 10
deep, shifts small vessels by 15 locks from the
waters of Loch Fyne to Loch Crinan on the
Sound of Jura. It takes four hours, if they
hustle. We didn't.
Charging Lock Gates Full Tilt
A special type of little coaster called a
"puffer" has been developed for these canals of
Scotland. Its upright boiler puffs like a noisy,
panting dog. We sailed past one at Ardri
shaig, a wall-sided, bargelike little thing with
engine, boiler, and bridge jammed into mini
mal space at one end, mast and winch at the
other, and the cargo hold taking up maxi
mum space between (page 508). The puffer
puffed past, flat out at five knots, bound light
toward the Clyde.
I entered the canal at Ardrishaig warily,
for this ditch stuff was a new kind of navi
gation to me (pages 494 and 498). I find
that the water spilling out sets up a current
which I must use full power to stem, despite
my caution, and charge at the fragile lock gates
with alarming speed. No worries, though!
The Dutchman is in part designed for such
canals. She handles beautifully and brings
up short, inches from the waterfall over the
lock gates. I quickly accept the offer of the
services of an old lock man, Alec McCallum,
aged 70, to help us through.
We use a sunny day very pleasantly charg
ing through the canal, climbing up one set of
locks and down another, pushing open heavy
wooden lock gates, opening and closing sluices,
charging at steel bridges which always open
in time but sometimes just, being swung la
boriously by hand at the last moment.
500